


Can I Keep You

by hotkadamn (shadowslovesong), hummdrumlife



Category: Glee
Genre: Casper - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowslovesong/pseuds/hotkadamn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummdrumlife/pseuds/hummdrumlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kum fused with the 1995 film "Casper".  This multi-chapter fic picks up post "The Break Up," although Sam was a little too busy haunting a New York City apartment to attend McKinley High.  This work has Klaine-unfriendly moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The apartment doesn't get renters very much. Maybe 'cause it's not much to look at, it's more of a large, dark room than an actual apartment. Or maybe 'cause the ones who move in end up leaving pretty quick after Sam starts to get too careless. Doodles left in bathroom mirrors, forgetting to stay invisible during parties, stuff misplaced in impossible ways. It kind of sucks, to be honest. Being dead for this long makes a guy kind of lonely. But ghosts are scary, and this place isn't nice enough for anyone to risk the ghosts. 

Besides, none of them were all that interesting anyway. Barely anyone his age. Well, the age he was last alive for. And a lot of them seemed pretty unfriendly, even to each other. 

Then, one day in September, Kurt and Rachel came. Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry. Both just about Sam's age, and possibly two of the most interesting people Sam has ever seen, and he's seen a lot of people. They're sharp, and funny, and use a lot of big words Sam doesn't understand but he doesn't mind. They smile and laugh a lot and sometimes argue, and they're both loud, and they both sing. That's Sam's favorite part. He'd always loved singing. Sometimes he sneaks into churches and the theaters that line Manhattan just so he can do it unnoticed. 

He decides to be pretty careful about these two, because chasing them off is the last thing he wants to do. 

One night, someone arrives at the door with a huge bouquet of roses and a bright smile, and Kurt lights up like Sam's never seen him do and kisses the boy, and if Sam had a heart it might have felt a little heavier. Kurt has a suitor and, for whatever reason, Sam is put off by the idea. Put off enough to make himself more scarce than usual.

That smile he'd seen is why he's so surprised when he heads back into the apartment the next night and hears soft crying coming from Kurt's bedroom.

Kurt hates to cry. Nobody looks good crying, nobody. Despite how much he'd like to have nothing to do with the activity, it's one he can't seem to avoid. Of course, he especially hates crying because the person he would have given his life for, you know, that one he was meant to wake up smiling at until he didn't wake up at all, decided that he wanted someone else instead. Kurt thought that he'd been done with the tears, but the moment that he's alone his knees give out and he slumps down against the wall of his little corner of the apartment, shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle the sounds. As he reaches up to wipe his cheek with his bare wrist, the words come out unbidden, choked and quiet.

"God, why can't I just die..."

Sam, hovering in the air just beside the bed, tilts his head as he looks down at Kurt. It looks... wrong. He doesn't ever want to have to see Kurt crying like that. Or talking about dying.

"It's not that much fun, if you wanna know the truth." 

Sam blinks, and reels back, covering his mouth with an invisible hand. At least... it had been invisible a second ago. Once he'd realized he'd spoken out loud, he must have accidentally let himself show. _Oh... no nonono. Damnit._

Kurt frowns, freezing with the heel of one of his hands still pressed to his eye. "Rachel, did-"

He pulls away his hand and lifts his teary face and then stills as if someone's put him on pause. There is a boy. A blond... semi-transparent boy. Floating. Right next to him. Kurt's eyes steadily open wider and wider and he pulls a huge breath in to scream because he has seen enough shitty horror movies to recognize that this is the appropriate reaction when _there is a flipping ghost. In his. Room._

"Wait, don't!" 

Sam holds a hand up and sets it quickly over Kurt's mouth, as if a ghost reaching out to him is going to make him any less freaked out.

"I um-- sorry, I-- really didn't mean to just show up like this. But-- don't freak out, okay?"

The feeling of a ghost's nonexistent hand covering his mouth... is like nothing Kurt's ever felt before. It makes him freeze, back stiff and straight. It's like a cold breeze is resting only on his lips with just the faintest sense of pressure, barely there at all. But just as arresting is the look in this ghost's eyes. His wide open... hello, gorgeous eyes. They're sort of light colored. Would they be blue? They look like they'd be blue. Kurt stares into them silently for another moment, heart still racing, before he finally breathes out heat against the chill palm touching him, the scream dying unheard. Those eyes don't say that he's in danger. Maybe it's ludicrous to believe them, but he does.

Sam slowly drops his hand when he sees the scream halt in its tracks. He glances down at his fingers. He can only just barely feel things, but somehow brushing Kurt's face like that, it's like. It's like... something.

He floats backward and looks back up at Kurt, his hands just slightly raised.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have scared you like that, it was an accident. Um... I'm Sam?" He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. _Please don't run away._

When Kurt's voice finally comes out, it's a little choked and requires a second of clearing. He's just gone from sobbing to petrified in no seconds flat so he's a little shaky on the uptake. "And you're... well, you're exactly what I think you are, aren't you."

"Probably." He shrugs, offering Kurt a small smile. "Unless you think I'm a demon or something? Because I'm not, promise."

Kurt breathes out, an almost-chuckled "wow" emerging with the sigh, his back still firmly pressed into the wall. He shakes his head and the movement still looks as if he's operating underwater, although his tone starts to inch back toward a defensive sarcasm and away from abject terror. "This is a dream. I do not get lucky enough to be haunted by this kind of ghost."

Sam tilts his head curiously. "What kind's that? The... dead kind?"

Kurt laughs nervously, a high-pitched and brief chortle, and then shuts his damn mouth. For god's sake, he is nervous about flirting with a ghost. He is also flirting with a ghost. He swallows and tries again. "I'm. Kurt."

"I know." Sam blushes, or... looks like he's blushing, the way he laughs and ducks his head. He can't really blush, no blood to rush to his cheeks. "I mean, I've kinda been here. For a while."

Kurt's eyebrows lift , each centimeter indicating growing realization, and his lips part. "...That was you. That was you! Hairspray in the fridge. My shoes in the bathtub. The stick figures on the mirror?"

"I'm sorry! I just. Get bored. Well, the hairspray I didn't mean- I actually thought it was supposed to go in there. I didn't want it to go bad." Sam grins, sheepish.

Kurt shouldn't grin back, and definitely shouldn't even think about laughing. He should be scared. This isn't a dream - those things really happened. Which means this is really happening. Still, a little snort sneaks out as Kurt's eyes become a bit more curious and trail over this ghost's features. He's thankful that Rachel isn't in the apartment, he realizes. He'll tell her eventually, obviously, but just for now he wants to keep this to himself. "You're. Really real. I'm talking to a ghost."

"In the flesh. Well... you know. It's really nice to actually meet you, by the way. Um. I hope you don't wanna move out now, I know you two really like this place."

Kurt lifts one shoulder toward his ear, trying to smile, although something near his bookcase apparently demands his attention because his eyes wander there. "Everything's been. Everything's been wonderful."

Why the hell is he thinking about Blaine again, now? A tear that must have been left over from his crazed sobbing fit starts to itch his eyelid and Kurt pushes it down with the pad of one finger as he tries to clear his throat. Sam sees it, of course, and remembers why he'd come in here in the first place. And well, being a ghost and on your own for decades doesn't do a lot for your sense of tact.

"Why were you crying?"

Kurt breathes out an acidic laugh and pulls one of his knees to his chest, wrapping both arms around it. "I'm sure it's nothing that would matter to you. Once you're dead, these kinds of things must seem ridiculous. I've just- I lost someone I loved."

"Actually, when you're dead, those things seem about a hundred times as important." Sam frowns, floating down so that he's more sitting beside Kurt than standing in front of him. Or hovering. "Did... he die?"

"No. No." Kurt looks at his fingernails, forgetting for just a moment how surreal it is to be describing his newly ex-relationship to a ghost. He can hear the nonchalance in his voice ring false and it's maddening. "He decided that he'd rather have someone else than wait to be with me."

For some reason, Sam feels like he's been punched. "But... why?"

Kurt shakes his head with another almost-laughing exhalation. "Does it matter? He thinks we've grown apart, I think he's massively overreacted and broken my heart, and now it's over. Just like that."

It doesn't make sense to Sam at all. He feels lucky he even gets to haunt Kurt's apartment. Watching Kurt just being who he is always makes him feel full of the life he doesn't actually have anymore. The singing, the cooking, bicycles through the apartment. Kurt is one of those people who doesn't just show up every day. Who would ever take that for granted? 

"He sounds like kind of a moron if you ask me."

Kurt smiles at Sam. He wouldn't think that if he'd met Blaine. Everyone who meets Blaine loves Blaine. But, again, it's nice that he hasn't. It's nice that this is just his.

Kurt tilts his head toward the silvery figure beside him, changing the subject with practiced ease. "So, you can move shoes and hairspray... which means you can touch things."

"Sort of. I can move things, but not by touching them. If I try to touch things it goes through, except for. Kind of a brushy feeling, I guess."

Brushy. That's one way to put those cold shivers that Sam's hand had spread across his lips and that Kurt can still feel lingering. Like snowflakes. Kurt lifts one of his hands from his knee but it hesitates in the air between them as he realizes how rude that could seem. He meets Sam's eyes again. "Is it okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Sam blinks as he lifts his hand as well. It's not something anyone has ever asked before. Usually because they've run away by now. But Sam finds he really, really wants Kurt to try. He wants to know what he feels like, if only for an instant and even if it's not really real.

Kurt's palm moves an inch or two and he watches it before stopping again. "Will it hurt you?"

Sam laughs softly. It's an endearing question. "No."

That cuteness fades into a look of suspicious self-preservation that Kurt levels at the grinning ghost. "Will you hurt me?"

Sam shakes his head, his own smile sincere. "Of course not."

Kurt's teeth touch his lip before he looks down again at their lifted hands and moves his forward, his breath lodged inside his thudding heart. Their palms reach each other... and then his passes through Sam's, hovering around his silvery white wrist. There's a bit of tingling, that same chill as before, and his hand seems to waver around the edges. Kurt's lips turn up, and he breathes through an awed smile. The memory of Blaine, at least for the moment, is completely gone. 

"Wow."

Sam actually gasps a little. He wasn't expecting to actually feel anything at all, or not anything more than usual. He's "touched" people and things and it pretty much just feels like when your foot falls asleep. But this time it's like... warmth? Actual, real... warmth. Not like he's sitting in front of a flame or anything. Just like... for that brief, split second, he can almost pretend he's more than air. It's... amazing.

"You said it."


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt lifts his eyes to Sam's and there's silence for a moment, so still they can hear the old apartment settling. This is all.... wild. He's touching a ghost, and the ghost is. 

Well. The ghost is gorgeous.

And of course this is when the front door opens and Kurt starts, his hand jerking backward. Rachel.

"...Hide!"

Which would normally be the easiest thing for a ghost to do ever, because yeah, Sam can turn completely invisible. But it takes some amount of concentration, which the mix of Kurt's eyes and that weird warm feeling and the surprise of Kurt's sudden command won't let him have. He tries but ends up fading right back into view, and in a panic floats into Kurt's bookshelf. He shouldn't be too noticeable with the books all around him.

Seconds later, Rachel strides in. To be honest, she doesn't look a whole lot better than Kurt had when Sam had found him in here.

"He texted me again, Kurt, that is six times today! He goes four months without contacting me and now it's like I can't get him to just leave me alone!

Kurt is still on the floor, wide eyes darting briefly at the bookcase, then back to her. His tone is, regrettably, less than convincing. "That's. Awful."

Rachel quickly stops in her frenzy and frowns. "Oh, Kurt, I'm sorry. You must still feel awful too. How are you today? Any better? Do you want to sing it out? I put together a fantastic Empowered-After-Breakup playlist while I was drowning my sorrows in virgin daiquiri last night."

Kurt has to quickly re-teach himself how to use words. He blinks as he stumbles over his own tongue. "No. Yes, I- obviously. Awful, I feel awful. Need sleep, actually, we should get some sleep."

Rachel tilts her head, pauses, and then places her hands on her hips. "You're being very weird. And not mopey-exhausted-heartbroken weird. Like... hiding something from me weird."

She pauses. "Are you watching dirty videos, Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt can see a bit of Sam's face through the books out the corner of his eyes and they widen before immediately snapping back to Rachel. The word lashes out like a whip, pure instinct.

"No."

Hold on, then she might leave. "Yes! Absolutely." Kurt's fingers flick at Sam by his hip to try to communicate his visibility. "Filthy videos. Shocking."

Rachel narrows her eyes while Sam attempts to fade back into the bookcase. "But you hate those movies. You're always worried about their mothers. Kurt, what is going on here?"

Sam can't help it-- he laughs. He may have been born a long time ago, but he's been around and he knows what videos they're talking about. And Kurt worries about their mothers? It's not funny for long though. Rachel's head snaps around to his direction just as he focuses and manages to fade almost completely.

"Did you hear something, Kurt? Or... see something?"

Kurt is momentarily flustered by what his new friend the ghost just overheard and thinks more about what that laugh means than Rachel's question. It means that he has a half-formed, uncertain grin on his face as he looks at her. "No?"

"No, I definitely heard something. Someone laughed. What are you hiding from me, Kurt Hummel?"

She marches through the room and up to the bookcase which she could swear was wavering and that's when Sam comes into view, leans in and waves. "Um. Hi."

Rachel screams, a loud, long scream befitting the queen of theater she is, and Kurt scrambles to squirm in between her and Sam as if trying to shield them from each other. He looks her in the eyes, clearly panicked more by her reaction than by the spirit peeking over his shoulder. "Rachel! It's okay, it's okay!"

As Sam leaves the book shelf and floats a bit ruefully off to the side, Rachel holds her hands up, eyes wide as saucers, taking dramatically deep breaths. "Okay?! Kurt, you're just going to tell me it's okay? That is-- that's a ghost! We have a ghost in our apartment, Kurt! When were you going to tell me we had a ghost in our apartment?" She suddenly smacks his arm, and points out through Kurt's curtains. "I get undressed in this apartment, Kurt! I take showers in this apartment, naked!"

Kurt gasps and holds his arm where she hit it, immediately shrieking back in an almost perfectly mimicked pitch. "Ow! I _just_ found out! And, what, you think I shower in herringbone trousers?!"

Sam decides now's a good time to stop floating idly by. He moves to stand near them both and holds up a hand. "Whoa, whoa, okay, both of you. First of all, I don't watch anybody undressing or showering, ever. And. There's no second of all. I'm sorry I frightened you, Rachel. I'm Sam. It's nice to meet you."

Rachel looks at Kurt, a little uncertainly. Kurt shuts his mouth, frustrated that Rachel bitched him into a corner, but he drops his hand and huffs a sigh through his nose. Then he smiles with determined force and looks pointedly at Rachel. "See? It's _fine_. Be polite."

Rachel hesitates for another second or two. Then she steps forward and holds her hand out with determined cheer. "Pleasure to meet you, Sam. I'm Rachel Berry. I hope you'll excuse my rudeness, but I've never met a ghost in person before." 

Sam laughs and goes through the motion of shaking her hand, definitely aware that it doesn't feel like touching Kurt's hand had. She continues to speak during the whole ritual. "You know, I've always been very in tune with the supernatural world. I believe I have a sixth sense."

"He doesn't need to know which shows of the season will make a second run, Rachel." Kurt crosses his arms and beams, standing beside both of them but definitely directing his look and his comment toward Sam. It wouldn't be difficult to see a coy spark in his eye that's been absent and is certainly not a remnant of the tears he'd lately been shedding. Sam smiles back at him, not even exactly sure why Kurt's smiling at him like that but he knows he wouldn't mind seeing it forever. 

After a second of this, Rachel clears her throat, looking between them. "So. I suppose we have our answer to the great hairspray-in-the-fridge incident. I told you that wasn't my fault."

"He thought it would go bad." Kurt covers his mouth with two fingers to muffle the ear-to-ear grin that's suddenly growing and doesn't show signs of stopping.

Sam laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've learned a lot of stuff over the years but I guess I still have a ways to go."

There's another pause. Kurt's gaze flicks from Rachel, to Sam, and then back. He bounces on his toes when he finally breaks the silence. "So. Can we keep him?"

Sam looks over at Rachel with a smile and just a bit of pleading in his eyes. She ends up smiling back. "Well, as long as he remains a gentleman and respects our privacy, and promises not to cause trouble while I'm practicing or meditating, I don't see why not."

And Kurt claps with a burst of excitement that he doesn't entirely understand. They officially have a ghost. Break out the champagne.


	3. Chapter 3

The first meeting of the day usually goes by like a blur. Kurt gets people coffee, listens to key suggestions every now and then, but is still in a bit of a sleepy haze. When everyone stands, however, Isabelle pauses to say something that gets everyone's attention. 

"Sorry, almost forgot. We're going to try to start a new tradition here at Vogue in order to get everyone's ideas flowing. We're having a Halloween bash here at the offices, costumes mandatory. Dress to impress." 

She looks particularly at Kurt and winks and he knows she's trying to send him positive energy, tell him she believes in him, but the added pressure just makes his eyes widen and his face turn pale. He stares after her as she calls out her cheery goodbyes and sweeps out of the conference room.

"You look white enough to already be in costume."

Kurt blinks and turns toward one of his innumerable coworkers. This one, however, is one he'd remember meeting before. Eyes like Damon, hair like DiCaprio, smile like McGregor, and wearing effortlessly cool tweed suspenders (is this a new collection? mental note to check online for these later) and a powder-blue work shirt. And he's directing that dimpled grin at Kurt. He holds out his hand abruptly. "I'm Patrick. And you're Kurt, right? You have nothing to worry about, everyone knows how much she loves you."

Kurt hesitates (mostly shock) and then takes Patrick's hand and shakes it. Very moisturized.

"She loves me for now. I know better than to take that for granted." He hugs his pad of notes to his chest. 

Patrick's brow lifts and his grin becomes a smirk. "No, really. Don't be modest. I... may have taken a peek at some of your sketches while you were making that latte, and you're good. You're really good. So good, actually-"

Patrick does an endearing sort of shuffle of one of his feet as he looks back over a shoulder and Kurt gets a full head to toe look in before he turns back around and holy mother of god. Wow. Patrick then makes it worse by leaning closer. 

"I shouldn't tell you this, but I have some friends down in fabrication and... if you got some of those designs into mock-ups? Showed around some physical copies, you could make a huge splash here." 

Kurt's eyes widen to twice their usual size. His... drawings. Made into real clothes. Worn by actual people. He lets out a high-pitched giggle that sounds positively manic and grips the edge of his papers.

"Please tell me what the catch is immediately before I hyperventilate."

Patrick chuckles and partially shrugs. "Well, the catch is, I need the sketches tonight. They're having a lull now, but in two days the winter catalogue comes in and they'll be swamped so...."

He pauses and Kurt feels his heart thump against his ribcage.

"... Think I could come over after work?"

\--

Kurt bursts through the door that evening and immediately begins flying around the apartment, tidying everything he can get his hands on.

"Sam! Sam, are you here?!"

Sam is doing the ghost version of sleeping in Kurt's bed - just kind of vegging out, eyes closed - when Kurt comes bursting into the apartment in a frenzy. He jumps up and sails into the main room. 

"Yeah, yes, I'm here, Jesus, Kurt, what's going on?"

"Someone's coming over - can you just. Hide those dishes somewhere, he'll be here any second. And don't let him see you when he gets here, under any circumstances!" Kurt flails in the direction of the bowls sitting in the sink.

Someone. He. Him. Sam frowns, half-heartedly sending the dishes floating into the nearest cabinet.

"Not-- not _Blaine_?" It's more of a statement than an actual question, and there's obvious disdain when he voices the name.

Kurt almost flinches, pausing before continuing to scoop up a scarf from the floor. "No. Not Blaine."

He's quiet as he flings the last of his clothes into the hamper and then grabs a pan from a cupboard and rushes to get tortillas from their pantry.

"... Someone. New."

The answer being no somehow doesn't make Sam feel any better. It's still obviously a boy, who Kurt is attracted to. Probably a cute boy. A living boy.

"Oh. Well who is he then?"

"A coworker, from Vogue." Kurt juggles a block of cheese and a package of pre-cooked chicken and starts organizing them on one of the tortillas. "A _very_ influential coworker. And he wants to see my sketches."

Kurt bites his lip as he arranges the last tortilla, muttering to himself. "One of the many things I learned from Clueless... always be in the middle of cooking something."

Sam floats around to sit on the counter next to the stove, arms folded.

"Does he like you?"

Kurt slides the makeshift quesadillas into the oven, avoiding Sam's gaze while trying not to _obviously_ avoid his gaze. "Don't be ridiculous - this is a work visit."

Yet the knock on the door the next second makes him jump and fling himself toward the mirror on the wall, hands near his hair. " _Oh_ god... how do I look?"

Well that answers that, anyway. Anyone who thinks nothing hurts after you die is very wrong. Sam sighs but gives Kurt a small smile. 

"You look great. I'll just... go hang out somewhere else."

He's acting weird. Kurt gives the fading Sam a confused frown as he flees toward the door. He'll deal with that later. As the door opens, Patrick is standing there, dimpling at him again. Kurt smiles back, although a bit more scattered.

"Hi! I was just whipping together some quesadillas, come on in."

Patrick grins. "I knew something smelled amazing. Great pad." He strides past Kurt and appraises his surroundings with smug satisfaction, hands in pockets. "Very industrial chic. You decorate like you design. Raw, sparse, unique. Powerful statements."

Kurt lets out another nervous chuckle as he shuts the door and scurries over through the curtains sectioning off his space. "Speaking of which..." 

His back is against the back wall, hands clasped behind him. The brick is plastered unevenly in ripped out sheets of paper holding his most recent design sketches, sweeping lines of pencil and ink on vague human forms. He looks at Patrick hopefully as he follows. "What do you think?"

Patrick frowns thoughtfully and poses, one hand at his chin, eyes scanning the wall. Admittedly, the pose is a little douchey, like someone who's trying too hard to embody Kerouac reincarnated, but he's still dreadfully handsome, and he holds Kurt's future in his hands, so he's holding his breath.

Sam really doesn't like this guy. He doesn't like him one bit. He has a stupid face. It's so handsome that it's stupid. And he walks funny. And his eyes. They're. Strange. They have a glint. Not the good kind. He was going to leave the apartment, sneak into a show or something. In the end, he's too curious, and too afraid of leaving Kurt alone with some boy who likes him. Who isn't him. 

He follows imperceptibly to the sketches. They _are_ really good. Sam didn't know anything about fashion when he was alive. He owned maybe three pairs of pants and and four plain shirts. He knows even less about it now. But somehow he can just tell Kurt's drawings are good. And apparently so can Kurt's new suitor.

Kurt's looking at the guy way too intently, way too hopefully. Sam will fix that. He floats down from where he's been hiding on the ceiling and stands behind Patrick, so that Kurt can see him but Patrick can't. He imitates his stance, one hand on his chin, exaggerating the way his hip sticks out on one side and his brow furrows.

Kurt's eyebrows lift up nervously when Sam floats down and he tries not to let it show, half-turning and fumbling to pull two down from the center. "These-these are my best." 

As Patrick takes the sheets and holds them up to the light and Sam continues to mimic him, Kurt tries to flick his fingers low to shoo him away, scowling. Patrick smiles at the second sheet finally. "This one... this one is ideal. The line of the trousers is so purposefully androgynous. I hope that this is the direction you'll go for Halloween." Patrick's eyes shift to Kurt's and Kurt's snap back, away from Sam. That look this handsome man is giving him is definitely suggestive.

"Do you think you'll... be bringing anyone?"

Kurt pales a bit and swallows before trying to laugh it off.

"Why, are you asking?"

Which is when Patrick's hands descend and he looks down at the floor, stepping closer and looking up through strands of hair like he's in a fucking teen drama or something and Kurt is so mesmerized that he doesn't see Sam going through the same movements just over his left shoulder. "I am... if you're saying yes."

Kurt is struck momentarily speechless.

_Come on, Kurt can't possibly be taken in by this jerk. Everything he's saying sounds like it was written for him. Like he could be down on Broadway saying them onstage. Only not in a very good play._ Sam wrinkles his nose and makes a little gagging motion, waiting for Kurt to decline the offer. 

Then Kurt says yes. 

_Oh. Well then. Oh._ Sam sighs quietly and wonders how it's even possible that he feels even more hollow now. He ducks his head and slowly lets himself fade out of sight. Kurt clearly doesn't need him here right now.

Kurt doesn't know why he says yes, exactly, and it isn't a decision he's 100% behind. He's freshly hurt and he barely know Patrick. But it is just one party, after all. And it might even be good to experiment a bit. He's so thrown off-balance by Patrick's question and his response to it that he doesn't see Sam's sad eyes, his drooping head, or even how he fades out of sight. Patrick grins, promises to let him know how the project goes, and heads out with a handful of Kurt's sketches. Kurt watches him go with a sort of dazed smile and then falls back onto his bed once the door's shut, staring at the ceiling and trying to work out the weird, nervous feelings rolling about inside of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam flies around the city for a few minutes, settling on a nearby roof and trying to figure out what in God's name is happening in his head. 

He doesn't know what it is about Kurt. He doesn't know why it's so important when he smiles at him, why it hurts so bad when he's upset, why he cares if Kurt wants to go to some party with some horse-faced chump. Probably just cause he's been so long without friends, and he doesn't want anyone stealing the ones he's found. Yeah that's probably it. Anyway, he's been watching Kurt for a while, so he feels kind of attached to him. Protective. And the guy is clearly a chump. 

He floats back into the apartment a little while later, hoping that Kurt isn't building a statue of the guy by now or something. Kurt's changed into his pajamas and robe by then, washed and combed the hairspray out of his hair until it's a bit loose and wavy, and is sitting at his vanity, humming a tune from _Bye, Bye Birdie_ and rubbing moisturizer onto his palms. He catches an obscure glimmer by the wall through the mirror and his lips turn up.

"He's been gone for awhile. You could have come back."

Sam shrugs, not feeling much like returning the smile.

"Thought he might be sticking around. Anyways, needed the fresh air."

Kurt notes the tone and frowns, turning around in his seat. "Something's wrong."

"No? No, nothing's wrong. Why would something be wrong?"

At which Kurt rolls his eyes. "You have a look. What? Did you not like him?

Sam snorts, avoiding looking directly at Kurt. "What's not to like?"

Kurt misses the sarcasm, preoccupied. " _Tell_ me about it - it's intimidating." He sighs and looks back into the mirror, noting each of his own flaws carefully and trying to prod them into place.

Sam's eyes widen at Kurt's back incredulously. "Intimidating? Him?"

"You don't think so?" Kurt flashes a smirk back over his shoulder.

"Please. What's that guy got that I don't?"

Kurt decides to give Sam his full attention this time and crosses his legs, twisted in his chair, playing along and still gently teasing. "A pulse?" His eyebrow lifts.

Sam glances away. It's true enough. Still. That's no reason Kurt shouldn't always be looking at him the way he was looking at Patrick. "Been there done that, it's overrated. Anything else?"

Kurt laughs through his nose and looks thoughtfully up toward the ceiling before offering another. "Mm... a tan."

Sam folds his arms. "You don't even have a tan. I have more of a tan than you do."

Fair point. Kurt nods, chin tilting. As he shifts, his eyes catch the mirror. Sam only appears in it as that glimmer, an unevenness in the glass that you can only catch if you move your head very slowly. He looks from the mirror and then back to Sam.

"A reflection."

Sam looks up at himself in the mirror, a small frown flickering across his brow when he acknowledges that nothing is looking back. Okay, fine. So this guy's a real, live... breathing guy. He can do a lot with and for Kurt that Sam can't. Live, for one. 

But... Sam's not entirely without stuff to offer. He looks back at Kurt, an abrupt surge of determination filling his chest.

"Fine. But I bet Patrick can't do this."

Sam grins and lifts his arms, focusing, and Kurt lifts straight out of his chair and zooms into Sam's not-quite-hold, causing him to yelp. He's suddenly being swept up on a pillow of... of nothing and his legs flail toward the ceiling when Sam 'catches' him. There's that faint sense of cold pressure that's Sam's chest against him, and some sort of invisible force lifting him up and keeping him stable, but it's dizzying to be unable to see what's moving him about as if he weighed nothing at all. 

"Sam! What is- what are you--!"

Sam floats him over to the window with a silent grin, and then the window opens and they're next to it and Kurt does not feel secure about this. There is a street several stories below him and nothing visible between it and his pajama-clad rear end.

"No, no, no no, no, SAM! Don't you dare, oh my _god_ -" 

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, heart in his mouth, arms flung around the gentle push-back of air that is Sam's neck, but Sam just laughs and flies higher. He can't help the small, tingling feeling of regret that he can't really feel Kurt in his arms, can't really feel the way Kurt's wrists are slung around his neck. He ignores it and swoops them over Central Park.

"Kurt, it's okay! I've got you. C'mon, look down, it's fine!"

He hasn't plummeted to his death yet, and he can feel air whipping the wavy tops of his hair back and forth. Kurt breathes deeply, in and out, and then cautiously lifts his head and peeks over his own arm. Green trees, small spots of light along weaving paths and black benches, someone walking their dog. His muscles tense with that first glance because it's still terrifying, but the longer he goes without feeling any wobble or waver in Sam's ghostly arms, the more he begins to relax. It's a beautiful night, though he's glad that he's wearing his plush robe since it is October. A carriage trots along a road by the park and Kurt actually smiles a bit. 

"Oh, wow."

Sam watches him slowly stop panicking, and when Kurt smiles, he reflects it in his own. He hovers there a few more seconds, then slowly starts to move them over the rest of the park. Over the trees and the paths, over the pavilions and the lake and the zoo. Once he's sure Kurt's ready, he speaks again.

"Okay... ready for this?"

And they're off again, zooming over streets and buildings and people and Kurt lets out another squawk, trying to cling harder to the nothingness between his arms. They climb, over a cluster of roofs, and then... there it is, bursting into view. Times Square.

They slow and Kurt's eyes begin opening wider and wider. The lights, the cars, the theater marquees, the sound of street musicians, people laughing and shouting, and his heart starts to hurt but with wonder. Down in the midst of all that, sometimes he forgets that he really made it here. He's living his New York City dreams and everything he loves is right at his fingertips. His gasp is audible as he leans against Sam and feels chills run down his arms. He whispers, dazed and incredulous.

"This is really happening." 

He means all of it. New York, his life here, his job, his freedom and possibilities... and Sam, this night, this insane experience that Sam is giving to him.

Sam watches him, soaking up his expression. He looks so awestruck. One thing's for sure, Patrick will never get to see Kurt like Sam is seeing him now. He just wishes, so damn much... he wishes he could...

It doesn't matter. What he wishes doesn't matter. 

Sam looks out at the city instead and the shift in the air beside him draws Kurt's attention. It's hard not to wonder what he's done to deserve this, why Sam brought him here.

Although if he's honest, he's beginning to be able to guess why. The way Sam smiles at him. The way he sleeps on his bed while he's gone for the day. The way he tries to make him laugh. The way he became so defensive and upset about Patrick. He looks at the silvery outline of Sam's face over the city backdrop out the corner of his eye. As Kurt wonders, he smiles a small, nervous smile. What does it mean to have a ghost as a suitor? It's all very dramatic, but if this is... as he said, really happening, then there are real questions to be asked. Like, wouldn't it just hurt them more in the end to let this even begin to happen? If Sam is really gone forever.

It's too big of an answer to try to find, and for now, Kurt doesn't want to push too far. He breaks his gaze on Sam to look back out at the city and smiles more broadly again.

"I guess now I know what it's like to be Lois Lane."

Sam laughs with bright surprise. "I love Superman. I saw all the moves that've come out and I learned to read just so I could read the comics."

"Well then, Mr. Kent." Kurt's smile quirks up higher in one corner. "Don't you think we should 'up, up and away' before a passerby notices someone in a very tasteful dressing gown hovering over Times Square?"

"Good point. We have one more stop to make anyway." Sam grins down at him, then takes off again, past the lights and colors and flickering advertisements. Soon, the night grows quiet again as they approach water. They fly out over the harbor and Sam lowers them a little, so Kurt could touch the water if he wanted. 

Forget Superman, this is _Whole New World_ territory. Kurt laughs as he curls up a bit tighter, watching his reflection shimmer on the water. He's distracted enough by the ducks and boats and the big, beautiful moon that he barely notices what they're approaching before they're zooming upward and green is flashing in front of his eyes and then they're slowing and hovering above the triumphant crown of the Statue of Liberty. Again, he gasps, and again, it's hard to breathe. Clouds drift across the black sky in front of and beside the moon and the silence up this high echoes. He can feel Sam lowering them down and he shivers, trying to focus on landing properly on that infamous green head instead of just staring out at his city.

"Sam... it's beautiful."

Sam flashes a grin at him as he carefully sets him down, then (somewhat reluctantly) lets him go and sits beside him. He looks out over the water, at the moon, then he looks at Kurt.

"Never got to do this with anyone else before."

Kurt curls his knees up once he's seated. The only thing that could keep him from staring out across the water is the look in Sam's eyes.

"Is it lonely? Being a ghost."

Sam shrugs, smiling just enough that it doesn't seem like he's too sad when he answers.

"Sometimes, yeah. Not many people stick around like you and Rachel did. There's been a few. And I can talk to other ghosts sometimes."

Kurt smiles back, though he can feel the melancholy in the air. He lays his cheek on his knee. "Did you have a lot of friends when you were alive?"

"Yes." Sam answers quickly, then pauses. He bites his lip, trying to sort through the blurry bits of memories. "Yeah? I think so? I um... Don't really remember much."

Kurt frowns. That's even worse than he would have expected. "Do you remember _anything_ from before you died?"

Sam shrugs again, quiet.

"Some things. Bits and pieces. I remember... my family. Kind of. My parents, I know they looked like me. I know I had a little brother and sister. I can't really... remember where we lived, or who we knew. I can't remember birthdays. I... I don't remember how I died."

Kurt looks down at Sam's translucent hands. Imagining losing the memory of his mom, or his dad. Losing the glee club. 

"I'm sorry."

Sam smiles toward him, a silent thanks.

"It's okay. I know I was happy and that's more than a lot of people can say, right? Anyway being a ghost definitely has its upsides." He nods toward the view. "And... I'm not so lonely anymore."

"Neither am I." Kurt smiles back until he feels his skin heat, forcing him to look out at the city again. 

His hand slides down and his fingers edge toward Sam's. Even if they can't touch, he can feel the cold, tingly chill once his hand is touching the edge of Sam's. He stops there and lets himself pretend. He can believe that he has a super-powered admirer who carries him in his arms over the city of his dreams, who sees him daily without his perfect styling and doesn't think any less of him for his mussed hair and creaky eyes in the morning, who helps him cook and helps him laugh and tells horrible jokes when he's feeling down, who gets angry whenever he's been hurt but will only become more caring when he's jealous.

But that isn't what this is. Kurt can turn toward Sam with a hope in his eyes, as he does now, but Sam can never lean in and kiss him in response, even if he wanted to. He swallows and makes the effort to smile despite his thoughts.

"... Thank you, for all of this."

Kurt has the bluest eyes ever, and they're looking right into Sam's. Their hands... they're not touching, because they can't. But they would be. Fuck, Sam wants to touch him so bad. He wants to pull him in his arms and run his fingers through his hair. He wants to kiss him. He can't remember if he'd ever kissed anyone in his life but if he had, he didn't feel about them like he feels about Kurt. Cause he'd remember. Death wouldn't have taken it from him, couldn't have. He remembers Patrick, remembers a pulse and a reflection. He glances down and smiles back as much as he can manage.

"You're welcome. Thanks for not running."

"You can go through walls, I doubt I'd get very far." The smirking joke tries to lighten the mood, even though Kurt can feel the same sort of sadness emanating from both of them.

Sam manages a small chuckle. He looks out at the moon. From the corner of his eye, he sees Kurt, all pale and glowy and his eyes glittery like the water below them. He hesitates, and then he tosses away the questions, only for right now. He lifts his arm and settles it around Kurt's shoulders and pretends if he tugged a little harder it wouldn't go right through.

Kurt enjoys it in silence for a few long minutes before he stifles a little yawn, covering his mouth with two fingers. His eyes dart to Sam's and he chuckles, embarrassed. "You're not boring me, I promise."

Sam laughs, pretty endeared. "You're probably really tired, you had work today. Wanna head back?"

Kurt nods sheepishly, rolling his eyes at himself. "So much for magical wonder, it's past my bedtime."

Sam shrugs and lifts his arm away. "It's okay, we'll do it again soon." He gets up and holds out his arms, then puts on his best impression of that Arnold guy in the robot movie that came out a while ago. 

"Come vith me if you want to live."

Kurt lets out a little, surprised burst of laughter and stands, in the process suddenly really feeling how high up they are. His hands flail in the air and he breaths out nervously. " _Yes_ , that, definitely want to live!"

Sam snorts and brings Kurt into his 'hold,' and together they go flying back toward the city. The trip back is a little more quiet, a little more somber. Sam wonders if Kurt is thinking about the same things he is. Back in Bushwick, Sam brings them through the open window and closes it behind them, setting Kurt down on his bed.

Kurt smiles up at Sam as he sets him down, feeling tangibly how close they are for that brief moment, how the curve of Sam's lips is just above him. He settles back against the pillows and then turns on his side. Without speaking, he touches the bed beside him, inviting Sam to stay. He doesn't want these moments to end, because tomorrow it will be morning and everything will have changed and not changed at the same time. Sam will be so much closer but infinitely farther away than he used to be.

If Sam had to breathe, he would be holding his breath now. But he nods, and takes the invitation to lie down alongside him. He rests a hand between them, eyes on Kurt's. Everything feels different. Kurt's eyes look different. Even the air feels different. Sam smiles lightly at him and floats the covers over Kurt, who snuggles down underneath them, stifling an out-of-place chuckle. He breaks the silence with hesitation, looking down at his fingernails peeking out. 

"...I wish I knew more about you. From before."

Sam bites his lip, glancing down at the covers and then back up at Kurt. 

"I know it was... 18-something? I know I was alive in 1888 because I remember all the 8s. I don't know how old I was, though. Um... I lived in... Tennessee. Before I lived here. I don't know why or when we moved."

Kurt's frown is curious. "I wonder why you can't remember. Why you start to forget."

"I think... well. I mean. The thing is... ghosts aren't really... supposed to be here? We're supposed to, y'know. Cross over. But for whatever reason, we didn't. Cuz it wasn't our time, or there's stuff we still needed to do... or we just... can't let go. I think... maybe the forgetting is to help us let go."

The thought of Sam leaving him, of moving on, makes Kurt shockingly nervous. He can't even talk about it - even if it's what would be best for him, it isn't something he can think of without an emptiness creeping up. He shifts onto his back, resting a hand behind his head and looking up at the ceiling.

"Does that mean... if my mother is a ghost, she's out there somewhere, forgetting? About my dad, and about me."

"No." Sam answers without any hesitation. He's sure, because he has to be. "No. No one could ever forget you."

It's sweet. Incredibly sweet. Kurt smiles and closes his eyes, avoiding any direct response to the compliment. He whispers his words in a soft confession.

"Sometimes I feel like... I'm the one forgetting her. Little things. Like how she'd put her lipstick on, or what she'd eat for breakfast. I know I can still remember... what she smelled like, though. Lavender soap. And her voice when she sang."

They're painful memories and intensely personal, the sorts of things he doesn't speak to anyone about, not even Rachel. But they're also soothing. He can see her in his mind, imagine her as a ghost. He could introduce her to Sam. They would love each other. Kurt could sing with her again. His breathing deepens as he imagines it, mind starting to drift. He feels Sam near him and it feels safe, and right. Peaceful.

Sam listens, watching Kurt's eyes flutter closed and the way the small, kinda sad smile flickers across his lips as he talks. The heart Sam doesn't physically have anymore breaks for him. Whenever he talks about his mother, even though it's never been this much before, Sam can tell how much he loved her and misses her. She must have been really special. Just like Kurt.

"You won't forget her. Just hold onto those little things, that'll always be enough." Sam pauses, watching Kurt's face start to relax, leaning in. 

"Hey... Kurt?"

"Mm?" Kurt hums, the sound carrying only across the short space between them.

"If... if I were alive... would you let me take you to your party?"

He may seem mostly asleep, but even unconscious Kurt doesn't hesitate. A miniscule smile curves his lips gently. 

"Mhm."

Sam's returning smile is gratified. It's nice to know, even if it makes this whole thing a little harder too. That stupid 'if.' He doesn't know what makes him ask the next question. It's just that... whatever happens or can't happen, right now, Kurt is here. With him. And Sam just... can't ever lose him.

"Kurt?"

He leans until his lips almost brush Kurt's ear, whispering into it. 

"Can I keep you?"

Kurt's answering hum is barely audible, but still there, as he drifts into dreams of being carried through the stars in strong, soft arms.

"Mhm..."

Kurt's sleeping. Probably has no idea what Sam was saying. Still, Sam will hold onto that answer. Like he'll hold onto this night and he'll hold onto Kurt. Sam floats up a few inches and hovers over Kurt, then leans down and brushes a soft kiss against his cheek. Even if Kurt can't feel it... it's just something Sam can't help doing.

Kurt breathes out a little sigh and shifts down into the blankets, mumbling.

"Sammy? Close the window, it's cold."

Sam glances instinctively at the window. It's already shut. The cold Kurt's feeling... is just him. And that's all his touch or his kiss could ever be. He floats to the edge of the bed and sits, watching over Kurt and tucking the blankets in tighter around him.

"Night, Kurt."


End file.
